"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church - "
Elizabeth smiled to herself as Jane's hand was placed in Bingley's. Mr Beresford looked pleased. She imagined he did not often have the opportunity to marry such a pair, young, in love, and deserving of the happiness they would undoubtedly enjoy. Bingley had a wide, slightly foolish smile on his face. His untidy brown hair had fallen in his eyes again, but she knew he felt nothing of it. Jane was a picture of blissful serenity.
Mrs Bennet tried to cry, but was too delighted with her accomplishment to manage it. Not a nerve troubled her now, although she had certainly been in a fit of hysteria that morning, fussing over the brides' hair and clothes. Jane had gained a little weight and so the fit of her best new gown was not quite perfect, and the scattered freckles on Elizabeth's nose had sent her into a frenzy. But now, nothing could diminish her happiness.
Mr Bennet was blinking. Elizabeth sighed a little. Poor Papa. He would miss them bitterly, she knew. Of course he would always be welcome at Pemberley, but she did not know how often he would make the journey, he so disliked travelling. She would write, she promised herself, long rambling letters full of news.
Kitty looked bored, and rather lonely, occasionally throwing a covetous glance at the lace on Georgiana's gown. Elizabeth felt a twinge of conscience. She had hardly spared her younger sisters any thought, her mind had been so full of her own affairs, and Jane's. Kitty was nearly as awed by Miss Darcy as she was by her brother, yet often stared at her with mixed wonder and envy. Word of her fortune had passed as quickly as her brother's, and most of the neighbourhood seemed to regard her as a strange foreign creature. Mary only frightened her, but she had actually spoken to Kitty. If the latter could be taken away from Meryton and given a proper education, she might improve, she was still young.
"First, it was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of his holy Name."
Elizabeth thought fondly of the Gardiner children, the little boys and then the girls, the elder always trying to be a model of propriety, Polly following Darcy or Jane about with constant questions and one hand gripping skirt or trousers. She briefly wondered about the nieces and nephews she would have, who they would resemble, how they would behave. What sort of life could Lydia's children expect, what sort of happiness would be possible for the offspring of such a union?
She looked down at her folded hands. There was no point in distressing herself over people who did not yet exist, not on this day, of all days. The Bingleys, now, would be as different as could be imagined. Unless - she briefly entertained herself by imagining them as parents of a girl like herself, or still worse, Miss Bingley. Well, they would take far greater care. Bingley was lackadaisical, to be sure, but she had no doubts that Jane or Darcy would take him in hand if it became necessary. His easy ductile temper had its advantages.
"Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication; that such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry, and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ's body.
"Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can shew any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace."
Elizabeth lifted her eyes and met Darcy's. He was in a great happiness, she could tell; he was not Bingley, he did not show it with that mirthful, exuberant grin on his face, although he did smile, a little, when he looked at her. She wondered what he was thinking; he seemed graver than usual. Regret, perhaps, at his role in dividing these two who were so evidently suited for one another; something of the same high nervous spirits she felt? She had no doubts as to her choice, but so much was changing. Afterwards, they would be indissolubly bound, they would never be the same again.
She saw a tear rolling down Jane's cheek and paid close attention then, ignoring all else but the four of them, her sister, the man who would be her brother, and her betrothed. Soon Bingley was a sliding a pretty gold band onto the fourth finger of Jane's left hand. It had been a new purchase. The Bingleys were just setting out, beginning their descendants' history, and most of what Jane received from her betrothed had never passed through another woman's hands, certainly not this. It was better, perhaps, for them; Elizabeth would never admit it, but she could not help preferring the weight of the centuries upon Darcy and most of the things he gave her. She felt, somehow, as if it she had become part of something greater and more important than herself, a feeling she had never had before, but which she relished.
"Forasmuch as Charles and Jane have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."
And then, it was their turn. Jane, now a married woman - Lydia's demand to be given precedence flashed into her mind, and as quickly left it - kissed her, and before she quite knew what had happened, she and Darcy were at the altar. The silence was almost deafening. She thought of his family, thought that she could never go back, and wanted to look back for reassurance, at Jane, her mother, Georgiana, anyone. Instead, she glanced up at Darcy. He looked perfectly composed, too composed. She knew him well enough, now, to recognise that particular composure, the expression without expression that signified the height of feeling with him, and smiled a little.
How many times had she heard the ceremony? She could not remember. Only a moment ago, she had been half-listening to it; certainly it was familiar, she could have recited it in her sleep - and yet it was wholly different now. She fixed her eyes on Mr Beresford and listened with far greater care than ever before.
How could it pass so quickly? One moment he was saying, " - therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God" and making her think, yet again, of Lydia and Wickham, then, for all her determined attention, her heart was pounding in her ears as the pleasant monotony of Mr Beresford's voice was replaced by Darcy's clear baritone.
"I will."
Elizabeth caught her breath. She had not cried when Jane had pronounced the same words, she had felt only happiness, but now -
"Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only to him, so long as ye both shall live?"
"I will," said Elizabeth, and blinked away the moisture in her eyes. She did not dare weep. Her father did, though, his cheeks damp as he gave her to his old friend, and she could only smile reassuringly. Then Darcy took her hand, and he said, still in that steady voice - only Elizabeth could hear the faintest hint of a tremble, and only she could see the exhilaration in his eyes -
"I, Fitzwilliam, take thee, Elizabeth, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."
She no longer had the slightest desire to cry now, she felt a rush of anticipatory delight, as if the world were opening before her, when she took his hand in her own, and she said, "I, Elizabeth, take thee, Fitzwilliam, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."
Almost reluctantly, she released her grip on his hand, feeling dizzy with it all as Lady Anne's ring slid onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It was perfectly lovely, of course; he had given it to her when they were in London, and had it re-set for her.
"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen."
Her hand looked different now, with that ring that she would never remove - no longer a girl's hand, but a woman's. She smiled vibrantly, unable to stop herself, as they knelt down together.
"O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life; send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy name; that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made, (whereof this ring given and received is a token and pledge,) and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together - " was such a thing even possible? - "and live according to thy laws; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
Once again, the last time, their hands were joined. They stared at one another, Darcy with his lashes lowered, she, her lips parted, and their fingers tightened together as Mr Beresford pronounced,
"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
The moment after her marriage, easily a half-dozen thoughts at once dashed into her head. Wonder that it had finally happened - Miss Elizabeth Bennet was gone, and she was Mrs Darcy. She would be this man's wife, live with him, bear his children, preside over his home. She was no longer a Bennet, but a Darcy of Pemberley. As far as the law was concerned, she had not become his, she had become him. She had not the slightest fear of him, but that knowledge, that whatever kind things he might do by her, it was now in his power to do them or not, made her intensely aware of how much had changed in her life. There had been four marriages in her family, this last year. Charlotte and Mr Collins, Lydia and Wickham, Jane and Bingley, and finally, her own, and all so different. She was suddenly, fiercely, grateful for the happiness she had so nearly missed.
The choir sang, "Blessed are all they that fear the Lord," and afterwards Elizabeth signed for the last time her old name, as the new ring sparkled up at her.
The Bingleys, Hursts, Darcys, and Bennets walked directly to Longbourn from the church. The carriages had been sent on ahead. Kitty and Mary immediately walked together, behind Mr and Mrs Bennet, but Georgiana stood uncomfortably by herself. The Bingley sisters turned towards her, clearly intending to invite her to join them, and Elizabeth instantly broke from contemplation on her married state.
"Georgiana, you must join us," she called out, and the younger girl's face lit up with a relieved smile.
"Oh, I do not want to intrude - "
Darcy, speaking with his customary softness in dealing with his sister, said, "Come, my dear," and offered his free arm. It was strange and rather awkward to not only walk without Jane, but before her, so Elizabeth turned her attention to those who would be her companions now.
"I feel quite silly for having never asked, but Georgiana, where are you to go, if Fitzwilliam and I are to be alone at Pemberley?"
"I am staying in London, with my uncle," she replied meekly. "I did not know you were going to Pemberley."
"Yes, we are leaving tomorrow. We decided long ago that we preferred some time without the chaos of town, and I so want to see it again." She smiled as reassuringly as she could.
"It is very pretty in the winter," Georgiana offered, before flinching at the sound of quarrelling from Elizabeth's sisters. From then on, she only listened to the light conversation between her brother and his wife, offering soft assent when she felt particularly brave.
The breakfast was at Longbourn, and they arrived not long before the ever-punctual Fitzwilliams. Elizabeth, without even thinking, fixed a smile on her face as her new family approached. To her astonishment, their manner to her had altered considerably; they might not be warm, but that hint of disapproval and distance was gone, and her smile quickly turned genuine. They all shook her hand formally and called her "Mrs Darcy," the Earl with shiny eyes and his wife with teary ones.
Elizabeth offered the former her handkerchief.
"Thank you, my dear," he said.
"You are quite welcome."
Lord Ravenshaw stood still, looking at Darcy, who was talking quietly and earnestly with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Lisle. "They have been as thick as thieves ever since they were children, just like Anne and I were." He blew his nose. "You saw the portrait. He is just like her."
"Yes, he looks like her," Elizabeth said gently.
"She should be here today. She would have wanted - " With that, he wandered away. Elizabeth had only a moment to herself before Cecilia joined her.
"Poor Ravenshaw," she said. "I do not think he can be happy, really, he never puts his grief away. I hope you do not mind; it is your wedding-day."
"I understand," said Elizabeth. Could a man of twenty-eight be called an orphan as a girl of sixteen might? She had wondered why his more distant family came at all - but of course they wanted to fill the absence of his own parents' blessing. Cold they might be, but they did love him; and because she was his wife, she had become one of their own.
Elizabeth shook her head and towards the end kissed her father and mother, who in their very different ways beamed proudly and a little sadly at her. Polly and Emily, the old cousin and the new, hovered around Darcy, one tugging at him until he lifted her up, the other simply staying near, gazing up at him with the wistful, brilliant eyes of all the Fitzwilliams. He took her hand and she smiled shyly. Elizabeth bit her lip. From this day on, she might conceive, an heir, a daughter - indeed, she should, that was her duty above all others. She felt a strange longing to hold their child in her arms, to present him, or her, to Darcy, to see him swing their daughter up, or walking hand-in-hand with the next Master of Pemberley.
"Miss Bennet?" a timid voice said. Elizabeth looked down at Lord Lisle's daughter. Her name was Sophia, but somehow it was difficult to think of her by it. Something rather whimsical might have suited her better. "I mean, Mrs Darcy. Could I call you Aunt Darcy? I call Mr Darcy 'uncle' because he's my godfather. He's Emily's, too."
Elizabeth heard her own voice say, "Of course you may." There would be others, she knew, her own nephews and nieces - but little Sophia Fitzwilliam was the first who had ever given her that name, and her heart was absurdly touched. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"
"I was thinking, Uncle Darcy is so happy with you, perhaps you could find a wife for my papa? He is always so sad." She blinked up at her solemnly.
"Your papa has already been married, Sophia. He might not want another wife."
"That is so." Sophy contemplated her father, who stood a little apart from the others, speaking to his mother-in-law. "He talks to Lady Ravenshaw a great deal, even when nobody else does. Everyone is unhappy with her, and my uncle Fitzwilliam shouted, but Uncle Darcy did not even though he was very, very angry. They quarrelled with Papa. Then everyone was unhappy with Cousin Cecily too, and Grandpapa is probably going to send her to my great-aunt in Kent. I hope he doesn't, because Lady Catherine is scary and doesn't like children. If she goes to Yorkshire, though, I think we shall go too and perhaps come to Pemberley. Oh! Will I be able to stay at Pemberley even though you are there? Cousin Georgiana never minded."
"Neither shall I," Elizabeth assured her.
"Sophia!" Lady Ravenshaw shepherded the girl back to the other children. Sophia, her face turned away, stuck her tongue out, and Elizabeth smiled before turning to Lord Lisle, who was waiting patiently by her side.
"Mrs Darcy. Welcome to our family." He shook her hand. She rather wondered that it had taken him so long, but she was not surprised.
"Thank you." She studied him a moment. Despite the resemblance between them, his tousled curls and dark brooding stare ensured that he would never be mistaken for his cousin.
"Mrs Darcy, I daresay you will think me a boor to ask you this on your wedding-day," he said nervously, "but I was wondering if you might . . ."
It was not a very far leap to make. "You wish me to speak to my husband" (she thrilled a bit at the sound of that word on her lips) "concerning your disagreement?"
"At present I would be happy with peace," said Lord Lisle. "I see Darcy has already told you everything." Something of wonder, and envy, entered his gaze.
"I really cannot promise anything today," Elizabeth said, "but of course I think family quarrels are very disagreeable."
"Thank you, cousin," said Lisle, with a shy smile. She started at the appellation; he bowed and departed.
By the time they were ready to leave, she had received no less than four requests from different members of his family to intercede with Darcy, and convince him to make peace with his cousin. Two more appeals regarded unrelated matters.
Once or twice, Elizabeth exasperatedly looked over to her sister, and saw Jane enduring the attentions of her new sisters. Then she felt almost grateful for the Fitzwilliams. At least they were sincere, and would not embarrass her in public. She linked her arm with Darcy's as they prepared to go, and after embracing and kissing various relations, turned to Georgiana.
"You are all leaving this afternoon?"
She nodded timidly, throwing a fearful glance at her family. Elizabeth smiled sympathetically. She was not remotely afraid of the Fitzwilliams, but to a shy, nervous girl like Georgiana, afraid of doing wrong, they were undoubtedly as aweful as Bingley had once accused Darcy of being. Elizabeth took her young sister's hands and whispered,
"You must come as soon as you may, after a week, perhaps two. Pemberley is your home now, and you are my sister, and I wish to know you as well as I do my own. So you must not think that you will be intruding or unwelcome in any way." She stepped back and raised her voice. "We both want you with us. Is that not so, Fitzwilliam?"
"It is," said he, succinctly.
Georgiana's lips curved into a tentative smile. "Everyone said you would want to be by yourselves."
"Perhaps for a little while." Elizabeth glanced at Darcy and the couple blushed. "But I have never in my life been without some female company, and your brother shall go quite distracted if he cannot fuss over you." Georgiana's eyes widened, and she looked at Darcy - he did not seem upset, only rather amused. She swallowed.
"The Gardiners are coming for Christmas," he added. "You must be at Pemberley a week before that."
"That is only another week," Georgiana said doubtfully,"but I will come as soon as you want me." She smiled shyly at her brother.
Elizabeth embraced her, and Darcy bent to kiss her cheek. After many more affectionate farewells, they joined Jane and Bingley, both of whom seemed guiltily relieved at their escape, and took their respective carriages to Netherfield, where they were to spend the wedding-night.
The afternoon was spent with the newly-married Bingleys. All four enjoyed themselves immensely, wandering around the park, eating a well-prepared luncheon, and simply talking. To be among sensible, refined people, intimate friends no less, could not be underestimated. Nearly all of the tension from breakfast faded. Jane confessed that she had always longed to see a really cold, snowy winter; Bingley claimed they were miserable and existed only as a test of character; Darcy accused his friend, or rather brother, of being subverted by a pampered London existence. Elizabeth, Jane, and Bingley laughed all through the day, and Darcy smiled. No mention was made of the night that lay ahead, or the Wickhams, though they discussed every other couple of their acquaintance in some fashion or another; there seemed an embargo on both subjects.
It was only as the couples bade one another farewell that Elizabeth felt any hint of unease. Bingley seemed eager and Jane apprehensive, although not unduly so. Darcy had grown quiet and grave, even for him, and Elizabeth - she hardly knew what she felt, only that her heart was hammering madly, both from natural bridal anxiety, and eagerness that finally all those feelings which had risen up at every stolen kiss or caress would no longer be forcibly suppressed, but that they were now perfectly natural and permissible.
The knowledge, or lack of knowledge, of what was to come erected an almost physical barrier between them. Elizabeth was not afraid, not of him, but she was unarguably apprehensive. Her breath came quickly, and the thick silence made her so nervous that she tripped over a small stair. Had it only been a moment, a half-moment, since they had left Jane and Bingley? She had never thought it a large staircase, nothing to Pemberley's -
And, as quickly as that, the intense discomfort was broken when Darcy reached out and grasped her elbow, steadying her. "Elizabeth?"
She felt a rush of happiness. They were married, man and wife, and nobody would ever look askance at too many long walks together, too much time alone in a shut room, too much anything. No one could tell them what they could and could not do. Or, if thery did, neither had to listen. Propriety could be hanged - when they were alone, that time belonged only to them.
It seemed as if the people who had been Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy of Pemberley were vanished to-night, or rather, that they were only masks donned before the world, and wholly unnecessary between the two of them. Darcy and Lizzy, the selves they were to their friends, they too had fled this evening. She felt as if she had been stripped bare of all but her essentials, leaving only her innermost self, the part that wasn't a part, Elizabeth. Did he feel the same? He looked slightly anxious. Oh - she remembered.
"Do not worry," she said, "I am well, I only stumbled."
Her thoughts had taken them to the doorway she could only assume was hers. For a moment the awkwardness sprang up full-fledged again as they looked at one another.
"I . . . I shall need some time. To prepare."
"Of course." He nodded distractedly. "Will an half-hour be sufficient?"
"Twenty minutes," she said immediately, then coloured a little. "I will not need more than twenty minutes."
"I shall join you then."
He was blushing too, and she loved him all the more for it. "Shall I - is there anything you . . ." She did not have the words, or could not say them.
"Go ahead, Elizabeth, I shall wait for you," he said, with what she always thought of as his portrait-smile. She had turned away, a little uncertainly, when he stopped her. "Except - there is one thing - "
She turned her head, eagerly said, "Yes?"
"I would like - " he sounded breathless, and took a steadying breath before continuing. "Will you leave your hair up? Just like it is now?"
Elizabeth raised one hand to the elegant coiffure Sarah had laboured over. "My hair?" she repeated wonderingly. "Well, if you would like . . ."
"Yes, I would," he said, gazing at her with an intent look that was at once familiar and very strange. It was not only desire, for that was certainly no stranger to them, but something else. Something had altered in him -
Purpose, she thought. Before he was always restrained, it was almost as if those feelings did not signify, for he would do nothing - and now, now they do -
And perhaps there was something else, but she could not say what it was. She lowered her hand self-consciously. "Then you shall," she said, with a bold look that could not possibly be misinterpreted, and left a kiss that was a mere whisper against his cheek. She could hear his soft laughter as she slipped through her door, and felt her breath catch. She did not know exactly what the change was in him, but she was certain there was an echo of it in herself. It was certainly not unwelcome.
Elizabeth could hardly imagine anyone seeing her like this. She thought of Mr Collins with a nervous giggle, thanking heavens that the man she would face without petticoats or lace to protect her was nothing like her cousin.
After fifteen minutes, she told her maid, "That will be all."
"But Mrs Darcy, your ha - "
Elizabeth felt a flush of pleasure at the title, which was still new and wonderful to her ears, and a self-consciousness still this side of embarrassment, at her hair, still coiled on the back of her head.
"That will be all," she repeated, more forcefully.
"Yes, ma'am," the girl said, and with a glance that was half awe, half sympathy, she slipped away. Elizabeth took a deep breath, looking at the watch she had left on the vanity. Eighteen minutes already. As if she were being married all over again, she felt her heart racing, her cheeks flushing a deep red. She had never been so indecently clad before any man - no, she told herself sternly, it is not indecent, he is my husband. Yet he remained a man, a man who had once been rendered speechless by the sight of her stocking-clad ankle. She chewed her lip, turning to gaze at her reflection. In her white gown, pale with nervous anticipation, a few wayward freckles dotting her nose, she looked rather like a maiden about to sacrificed to some heathen god. Well - Elizabeth plucked at the skirt - no respectable maiden would venture out of doors in this. Mrs Gardiner had insisted and it was so pretty, but - would he like it?
At that very moment, just seconds after her watch struck the twenty-minute mark, a knock came at the door, and then his voice,
"Elizabeth?"
She felt a flutter in her belly. Nothing would ever be the same, after to-night - she would never be the same. And he? She did not know how it was for men, being married and lying together. Certainly she could not look at him as she always had.
Elizabeth pressed one hand against her stomach, striving for some measure of composure, and said, "Come in."
It was very strange, she thought. In dressing-gown and nightshirt, he was nearly as covered as in the most formal of attire, and yet it was so very different. Her eyes instantly went to his bare neck. How silly, that the sight of something so natural and ordinary could make her heart pound and her blood race. Yet she had never seen it, never seen any more of him exposed than his face and hands, and somehow he looked so different in that robe than in day-clothes. Taller and thinner, and - and she longed to touch the blue silk. She liked him in blue, although she had never seen him in it. Why did he not wear it? Every other man of her acquaintance did - why always black?
By the time she checked her rambling thoughts, Darcy had not moved at all.
"I - I think, Fitzwilliam, that we are expected to do more than look at one another, however agreeable that might be," she said, with the most impertinent smile she could summon up at the moment. Darcy came back to himself and shut the door behind him with an audible click.
"It is very agreeable," he said quietly, covering the space between them in a few quick strides. "You are - " His eyes left hers and briefly examined her - Elizabeth blushed - "you are quite beautiful, my dear."
"I - " She felt more uncertain than she had in her life, and since she had nothing else to hold on to, she reached out and clung to one of his hands. "I love you," she said suddenly. "I love that you think I am beautiful."
He reached out and briefly caressed her cheek. Her skin tingled under his fingers, and she felt her lips curving tentatively at the pleasant, soothing warmth of it. If it was like this, she thought, she need not worry, this she could bear with no awkwardness. "Are you afraid, Elizabeth?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head, nodded, then shook her head again. Darcy smiled, and she laughed. "I am not afraid of you. You would not hurt me for the world," she said honestly. "But I am a little afraid of - oh, not knowing. I mean, I know - theoretically - but that is not the same. And I want to please you, and I am afraid I will not." They had told her to talk, but it was so difficult. She could only do her best; -Elizabeth tightened her grip on his hand.
"Elizabeth," Darcy said, "there is very little you could do, tonight, that would not please me. But . . . if you are not pleased, you must say so. In fact, you must tell me if you are, as well, so I shall know to . . . so I shall know what brings you pleasure."
She blushed furiously, but only held on tighter to his hands, and said, "I will; -and you will do the same?"
"I shall try."
They smiled at one another, both relieved without quite understanding why. "I did not let Sarah take my hair down," she told him, feeling absurdly like a child presenting a treasure.
"I see that," he said, and the tips of his fingers danced along the loose tendrils of hair. This, too, was pleasant, and Elizabeth briefly closed her eyes to savour the sensation. Then it occurred to her that it was decidedly unfair that he should be able to explore, while she simply stood there - and surely he would like it, as well?
"Fitzwilliam, may I touch you?"
They were so close, she could see every fleck of gold in the steel grey of his irises. "Elizabeth," he breathed, staring at her. She took that to mean "yes," and released his hand, glancing down a moment before reaching up to touch his hair. The fine pale strands caught in her fingers, as she gently pushed some of it back.
"Your hair is exactly the colour of my aunt Gardiner's," she said, watching with interest as his eyes fluttered closed, just as her own had done. "It is darker now, but it was almost silver, at Pemberley."
He opened his eyes, and said, "Even then?"
"Oh, I always saw how handsome you are, my love, I am not blind." She could hardly stop laughing at the colour that predictably rose to his cheeks. She pulled her hands back. "Did it ever bother you that anyone can see when you blush?"
"Often," he said indistinctly. "Elizabeth - " he took her by the shoulders, and turned her to face the mirror. For a moment they simply looked at their shared reflection; Elizabeth took a step back, into his arms, and smiled contentedly.
"I am very happy," she said, "did I tell you?"
"No," he said, "I do not think you did, today." One of his hands went to her dark hair, then dropped to her neck. Elizabeth shivered.
"That is nice," she said dreamily. "It is an odd thing, that necks should be so . . . sensitive. I never noticed before, except that mine itched in early spring."
He gave a slightly choked laugh, then froze when she whirled and eagerly pressed her lips against his throat. "I remembered - I liked that. Do you?" she asked.
"No - yes, I - not yet," he said, stepping away until he was gripping one of the bedposts. With something of his old - and to the rest of the world, usual - autocratic manner, he said, "Your hair, Elizabeth, take it down."
"I may - later?" she said, "I like it."
He acquired a faintly martyred look. "You may do whatever you like, later," he said, "I will be entirely at your service. But now, take it down, I want to see you."
"That is not what my mother said," Elizabeth observed, glancing over her shoulder at him.
"Your mother!"
"Where did you think we all came from?"
He blushed. "Some things do not bear thinking about," he said primly, and she laughed at him. Then she sobered, and said,
"Come here. You are too far away, and I want to see you." He immediately acquiesced to her request, if request it could be called, walking over and leaning against a bedpost with his arms crossed, and fixing his eyes on her reflected ones. Elizabeth could not keep a slow, distinctly provocative smile from crossing her lips as she slid into the chair and raised her arms, enjoying the intent look in her husband's eyes, and the colour burnt into his cheeks. She plucked one pin out - then another - and another. Sarah's work did not actually take all that many, so only a few quiet, intense moments passed before her hair uncoiled and fell down her back. Almost immediately, he took two steps to her, and with one hand resting lightly on her neck, he reached for the brush, and began combing her hair.
Nobody mentioned anything about hair, she thought vaguely, but I like it, and if he wants to - oh, I had better talk, like Mama and Aunt Gardiner said.
"That is nice," Elizabeth said, "you are gentler than Sarah is."
He smiled. "I learnt as a child, with my mother. It always soothed her."
"I do not think I need soothing."
His hand trembled against her skin. "I think I do."
"Are you nervous, my love?"
"Are you not?"
"I have reason to be," she told him. "It cannot be the same for you, for any man."
His hand stilled, and he met her eyes gravely. "I do not think - Elizabeth, this must be perfect, for you. You deserve nothing less."
"Oh no," said Elizabeth, "I could never bear to live with perfection. You must not think that." She shut her eyes briefly, as he continued the smooth, regular strokes through her hair, suppressing a shiver at the tingle running through her. However lovely this was in general, the knowledge that the person wielding the brush was her husband, it was Darcy, his fingers only inches from her scalp, made the whole thing so different.
"What do you want, then?" he said, briefly halting the slow caress. Elizabeth made a murmur of protest, and with a startled, pleased smile, he began again.
"I want . . ." She tried to let go of her embarrassment, to truly give him a truthful answer. Forgetting scruples and propriety and modesty was much harder than she had thought, even when she wanted to. She had a brief, horrible picture of Lydia and Wickham, who had no such difficulties, and almost envied them for a moment. Then she remembered the life they must have together, and thought, Wickham would never ask such a question, he would never need to, and would never care enough to ask. I am glad - glad, that Fitzwilliam has to ask, that he doesn't know already, that this is not some sort of - gilded seduction, that it will not be perfect and we shall learn together, we shall have to. I would rather have some shyness and awkwardness, tonight, than share him, wonder every time we were together, or every time I see him with a woman, who and how many knew him as I have.
What did she want? Elizabeth shut her eyes and for a moment, stopped thinking, let the impulse of the moment guide her wishes. "Touch my hair some more," she said, "I love that - did you know? It feels wonderful. And then - " she could barely bring herself to say it. "Then, I want to touch you. And after that - " Darcy's eyebrows rose - "you must tell me your wishes."
When she felt his hand caress her newly-brushed hair, her eyes actually fluttered. The mirror made everything more, for she was blind to what he did, yet able to see his face, and her own. She stumbled to her feet.
"What?" he said inelegantly.
"I didn't want it getting in the way. You took your hand away."
"Do not close your eyes," he said, taking a step closer. Absently, almost as if he didn't know what it was doing, his free hand began running up and down her neck. The other, much more tentatively, went to her temple, and pushed the wayward locks out of her eyes, then running his fingers through it. "You have beautiful hair," he said softly, "I wanted to see it like this, touch it like this, for - " He stopped, as if unable to go on.
His voice was quite different, somehow. Elizabeth blinked, tilted her head back against his shoulder, kept her eyes opened and fixed on their reflections. She could hardly believe that the man and woman staring back at them were any people she knew, let alone themselves. She looked a wild creature, her hair tumbling every which way, her breath gasping through parted lips. What did she look like to him? Certainly his expression was not one of repulsion, quite the opposite. His default expression was not one of warmth, or of anything, but his eyes were so expressive, too expressive much of the time - tonight she did not mind, as long as they stayed open. They were fixed on her unwaveringly - her, not the mirror-Elizabeth - and so she could see him and he could not, could see the look of wonder in his eyes when her hair twisted around his hand, the way he stared at her, and she could also simply admire how very beautiful a man he was, somehow even more so without all the trappings of his wealth and position.
"Fitzwilliam - " she began to twist towards him, flooded with an odd, exulting happiness - his hand slipped out of her hair, and then the joy almost hurt - "I want to - " She could not find the words, so she reached for his hands by the wrists, feeling the racing pulse beneath her fingertips, and somehow was comforted that he was as affected as she was. "Please," she said plaintively, "please - you remember that day at the Mount? - you stopped, you practically ran away, because everything happened so fast."
He twisted his hands so that they were not simply passive in her grip, and he could hold hers in return. "I remember," he said in a low voice. "I had no idea how I was supposed to survive weeks more."
"We are married," she said, meeting his eyes squarely, "there is nothing to stop us now."
He simply looked at her for a moment. "If anything happens - if you are displeased in any way - you will say?"
"Yes, just like I promised," she said, laughing and slipping her arms about his neck, standing on tiptoe and lifting her face. He bent his head to meet hers, one hand instinctively burying itself in her hair, the other pulling her sharply against him. Somehow the pressure of his hand seemed incongruous with the gentle tenderness of his kiss; Elizabeth blinked briefly, then excitement flooding her as she truly realised, with her whole being, that they were behind locked doors, they were married, nothing was going to stop them, and she could simply act on the impulse of the moment, as soon as it came over her. She lifted her hands to his face and held tightly to him, tilting her head and parting her lips for no other reason than because she wanted to.
At this the tenor of their embrace altered abruptly. Elizabeth, her thoughts tumbling wildly over one another, hardly realised what was happening when her teeth grazed his lip.
"Oh! Did I hurt - " she began, pulling back, but the effect on her husband was so remarkable that the query was rendered quite unnecessary within seconds. He jerked her back to him, and she could feel the sudden loss of restraint in the hands that had dropped to her waist, then ran over her body lightly. Elizabeth gasped, her eyes flying open - this was certainly not soothing - and briefly slid her lips away to his jaw, trying to catch her breath. As soon as she could, though, she returned to his mouth, pressing her body up against his, returning his feverish kisses in equal measure.
It was like that wild moment at Oakham Mount, only increased tenfold; like then, she could scarcely think for the wicked chills racing through her, and afterwards, sharp fragments of memory were all that she could recall, the rest lost in the passionate haze enveloping her. The first thrilling touch of his long fingers against the curve of her breast - his pale skin burning crimson against her lips when she ran them down his throat - one brief moment of sanity when they briefly halted and stepped back, both breathing labouriously as if they had run from Longbourn to Netherfield. She met his eyes, black now, a bright sliver of colour around the edges all that remained of his irises, and already felt oddly desolate, with a bare six inches between them.
"Fitzwilliam," she said, the first word either had spoken for what seemed like days, and her voice fell loud and harsh into that enchanted silence - she could not bear it and held him in her arms once more, standing on tiptoe so that she could feel his whole body against her. With a single caress, it all began again, and she was lost.
Hours, or perhaps a few seconds, passed, but the moment that most clearly leapt to her mind was when one of her sleeves fell off her shoulder, almost unaided, and her husband's fingers immediately went there, touching her as neither he nor any other man had done. Elizabeth gave a small cry and he immediately halted, resting his forehead against hers.
"No, no, do not stop," she said incoherently. It was so wonderful and unexpected that her only thought was that it must not end, but her hands, almost of their own accord, went to his waist and began untying the sash of his dressing-gown, eagerly pushing it off his shoulders. Then, as his fingers on her hesitated, Elizabeth laid her own flat against his chest, something of that early awkwardness coming over her again.
"Fitzwilliam," she whispered, "may I?" Her hand stilled over the first button.
"Yes," he said, his voice thick, and pushed the other sleeve over her shoulder. At some point he had untied the cord and the whole thing fell down. Elizabeth gasped and pressed herself against him, then rapidly began unbuttoning his shirt, distracting herself as much as she could.
"Elizabeth - wait," he said, pulling her a little away. She gave him a reproachful look.
"You said I could - "
"Yes, I know - " He took several deep breaths. "You must not be ashamed, you are beautiful."
"My mother always said that no sensible man would admire my looks," Elizabeth said, too caught up in all that had happened to guard her tongue. The man who stood before her, his hair rumpled, cheeks flushed, shirt half-unbuttoned, was a creature as unlike the staid Mr Darcy as possibly could be imagined. "My hair is too fine and my figure too thin."
Mine. The primitive possessiveness that surged through her almost made her laugh at herself.
"Your mother has the dubious distinction of knowing nothing about men, despite having lived nearly five and twenty years with one," he said, his eyes alight as he looked up and down her. "I have been admiring you since the third time I saw you."
Her mouth twitched at such precision, at such a moment. "I have the advantage of you there, then," she said, lifting her mouth to be kissed, and using his distraction to work on some more buttons.
"Elizabeth - "
She stopped at his waist, then lifted her eyes seriously. "May not I admire also?" Tentatively, she ran her fingers over his bared skin, laughing delightedly as his muscles reflexively contracted. "Men are very different from women, but not as different as I thought you would be."
She thought he said "oh?" but it was difficult to tell.
"You are so tall, and your shoulders are very wide, of course," she added conversationally. "But you are slender here at the waist, like me, and you aren't nearly as hairy as I thought you'd be, from what my mother said."
She tried to mimic his earlier movements, and was gratified to receive something that was half-moan, half-gasp, in return.
"No," he said, "it is too much, too fast - "
Elizabeth opened her eyes wide. "But, darling, it is only how you touched me, and I should get my turn, shouldn't I?"
"That's different - " and before she could reply he swung her up, one arm beneath her knees and the other at her waist. Elizabeth could not stop the laughter that bubbled out of her lips as the room whirled before her eyes, and it mingled with his own, the joyous sound echoing in her ears. For a moment, they simply looked at one another, smiling; then Elizabeth, enjoying the novelty of looking down at him, leaned down and languorously kissed her husband.
"Elizabeth," he breathed against her mouth, his eyes shining; he broke their gaze only long enough to look around for a chair that would adequately support their combined weight in whatever passionate interlude would come next.
Elizabeth locked her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his hair. "Fitzwilliam," she whispered, "take me to bed."
